


Didn't Mind the Waiting

by valiantlybold



Series: sing me a song [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Introspection, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, cuddling by the fire, geralt is Bad At Words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:54:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22280665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valiantlybold/pseuds/valiantlybold
Summary: Geralt finally realizes what this is.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: sing me a song [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1603039
Comments: 26
Kudos: 1240





	Didn't Mind the Waiting

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kolettshepard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kolettshepard/gifts).



> ok ur girl finally finished the show and ooooh boy, i am A N G E R Y so heres a soft fic to cover up all that bullshit
> 
> also @ kolett  
> its ur fault im now a witcher hoe so im gonna make u take responsibility by gifting every witcher fic i write to you

“Jaskier, what is this?”

Geralt unfolds the carefully wrapped handkerchief.

“Sweet bread,” the bard replies with a smile as he sits down by the fire. “The cook at the tavern loved my performance, she _insisted_ I have them for the road. Take one! One for each of us! _Oh!_ I even pilfered some sugar cubes for the old girl!”

He pats the pocket of his doublet, nodding over to where Roach is tied up to a tree near the small stream.

“Don’t tell her, though,” he says to Geralt with a wink. “Thought I’d surprise her in the morning.”

Jaskier digs into his pack and pulls out his quill and journal. He lays them out next to where he sits then begins fiddling with his lute.

Geralt recognizes the scattered chords. It’s some song the bards been struggling with for a few days now. The Witcher feels a small smile tug at the corner of his mouth. He takes one of the little cakes, then wraps the other one gently again for Jaskier.

The bread is good. Sweet too, so it lives up to its name.

Geralt lays down on his bedroll. Due to how they’re positioned, Jaskier sits just to his right, with his back to the fire. It lets the Witcher watch the bard tackle his song, and allows the bard to catch him watching and only give him smile and a wink is response.

“What’s the song about?” Geralt asks.

“Not quite sure,” Jaskier admits. “Just had this melody stuck in my head, but now I can’t get it to sound right when I try to play it.

Geralt hums. “You’ll figure it out.”

At that, Jaskier smiles again. “I hope so. Then I just need to figure out some words to go with it, too.”

The Witcher scoffs. “As if you’ve ever had trouble with words, little lark…”

“I suppose. I think it’s going to be a sad song,” Jaskier says, then, but smiles anyway. “Something to play at a funeral, or a wake.”

“The world needs that sort of songs too, I suppose,” Geralt says. “Continue tomorrow. You should sleep. It’s been a long day.”

Jaskier sighs. He probably wants to keep working on the tune, while they’re not busy moving. But he also knows he needs to rest. He tucks his journal back into his bag and sets his lute away. He crawls in under the covers over his bedroll and Geralt does the same. It comes natural now, for them to curl together. Jaskier snuggles up close to the Witcher’s chest, arms wrapping around him, legs tangling together. Geralt wraps his arms around him in return, petting down the bard’s back and stroking his hair.

It’s comfortable. It feels good. It feels _right._

It doesn’t take long before Jaskier has fallen asleep.

Geralt watches him. It will be a while before sleep takes him too.

Jaskier has a pretty face. Geralt’s known it since the first time they met. He can still hardly believe it barely been more than a handful of years since then. Since Jaskier, bold and unafraid, approached him openly in that tavern.

Not a lot of people had the guts to do that. To be unafraid while staring a Witcher in the face. Geralt knows that all too well. Jaskier has _never_ been afraid of him, though. He’s been afraid many times during their travels, but never of Geralt.

He’d never say it to the bard’s pretty face, but it warms Geralt’s every fibre to know that no matter what, there is someone in the world who doesn’t fear him. Someone who looks at him and sees more than the yellow eyes and the ghostly white hair and the scars and the silver sword and all the monsters he’s killed, _sees more than the mutations have made him._

Gods, Jaskier sees so much in him. Somehow, he sees _good_ in Geralt. He sees whatever little sliver of good there is left in Geralt, that Geralt didn’t even know was there, that he didn’t know he still had in him.

It never feels like there’s any good in Geralt; not until Jaskier looks at him, and smiles at him.

And when Jaskier does look at him, does smile at him… Gods, Geralt can feel the _good_ shiver with joy. He can feel it puff out its chest and stand with its head high, tall and proud, knowing its been acknowledged for the first time in _so long._

And inexplicably, Jaskier makes Geralt want to _be_ good, too. He wants to be a good person, because he knows that if he isn’t, then Jaskier will be upset with him, he’ll be sad and angry, and he won’t smile again, and thinking about Jaskier _not_ smiling is somehow the worst thing Geralt can think of.

Fuck.

The realization slaps him in the face.

He knows he needs to say it _now,_ or he will never again have the courage to say it. He knows that if he doesn’t say it now, he won’t be able to bring himself to ever do it.

Geralt shakes Jaskier gently. The bard groans, face contorting as he wakes. He looks up at Geralt with bleary eyes and a sleepy smile.

“Hey,” he says softly. “Morning already?”

“No. I-…”

The bard’s eyebrows furrow. “Is something wrong?”

“No. I just-… I-… I don’t-”

Fuck, Geralt can’t say it. It’s hard to say it. It’s hard to say it, because if he says it, everything will change and this _thing_ that’s been happening between them for so long now will actually become _real,_ and Geralt faces monsters on a regular basis but for some reason, this _thing_ being real is a lot more terrifying.

He swallows tightly. Jaskier still only watches him, and waits. It’s as if he can read Geralt’s face like a book; he knows Geralt wants to say something, is trying to figure out _how_ to say what he wants to say, so he knows to wait and give Geralt a minute to figure it out in that dumb, stupid, thick head of his.

_“I love you.”_

There, he said it. It’s out there. He let it out, easy, simple, no frills about it, no fancy words like Jaskier always uses in his songs, no metaphors or shit, just straight to the point, no two ways about it.

His slow heart seems to speed up, it seems to race, when another blinding, dazzling, breath-taking smile fills Jaskier’s pretty face. His hand reaches up and lute-callused fingers caress Geralt’s face and fuck, Geralt doesn’t know how long it’s been since he’s felt _at home_ like this.

“So you finally realized it, did you, Witcher? Well, I love you too, so I didn’t mind the waiting.”


End file.
